Nightingale
by Poptart Demon
Summary: Love is a fragile thing. Sometimes, it is stronger than steel. Sometimes, it shatters like glass. Can she mend herself after it breaks? More importantly, will she?
1. Prologue

_Prologue_

He'd said to meet him here, by the trees, at eleven. Though odd, she hadn't argued it, instead remaining faithfully at that spot for two hours now. One in the morning, and here she was, huddled down as the rain pattered down on the tree overhead, soaking through her jacket. She'd long since given up the idea of being dry. And all for this moment, the moment she'd waited all day for.

And she had no idea what it was.

"Rogue." She'd heard his footsteps long before he spoke, turning her gaze up to his. Gray-green clashed with black and crimson.

"What took ya so long, sugah?" She teased softly, sniffling. Rain drops got up her nose as she stood. He raked a hand through his wet hair.

"Business, chere', always business."

"So ah gathered." She said softly. He was here. Her heart sped. Her breathing got shallow. And she was soaked through and cold. But he was here, and that's what really mattered, right? "So what's with the secret meetin'?"

"I wanted t' make dis easy." He replied, and she scanned his face. He was smirking, like always, his eyes humorous, his body at ease, but there was something terribly wrong with it. His smile didn't meet his eyes, and he was tense, as if ready to spring, even as he attempted to be casual.

"What's wrong?" She asked, her heart quicker now, but not from excitement.

He sighed. "Dis ain't workin', chere'. We ain't workin'."

She felt the first signs of dread, colder than the rain.

"I t'ought we could get t'rough dis, but we ain't goin' nowhere. I t'ink it's time. I'm sorry."

"Ya ain't sorry, Remy." She said, smiling. She was numb. "Ya ain't never been sorry in yar life. You ain't startin' now." He looked at her, face serious now. Finally.

"Sometimes, I wonder, chere'."

"Ah s'pose this makes things easier." She mused, looking at the sky. Drops of water filled her eyes. Hard to tell whether she was crying or not now. For a moment, he put his arms around her waist, crushing her against him, his face buried in her hair.

As soon as it came, it was gone. Two hours in the rain just to say silent goodbye. He was gone before she laid down on the grass, rain pattering against her skin. She was there all night, clutching the ground like it was the only thing that kept her breathing in this world, as gentle lover's words ripped a hole in her chest and left her, lonely, bleeding, and broken.


	2. Butterfly

She looked at old notes she'd written, like a journal, but most were only a line or two long.

December 2

Need to buy presents

February 7

Remy left today

June 24

New record in Danger Room

September 19

He's back

November 17

Another year?

A whole year in single-lined entries. Between them, of course, there were sometimes sketches, or thoughts. But the facts, the history, were so… simple.

Logan had found her outside, like he had so long ago, except this time, she was far worse off. Now she lay in bed, sick from the rain, and worse inside. She hadn't spoken yet. The best they could get from her was a nod.

Kitty and Kurt spent the majority of their time nearby, offering any sort of amusement they could think of. Logan stopped. Jean and Storm checked her health. They all knew who this situation involved, and she loathed their pity. She just liked to sleep. Nightmares invaded her while she slept, but at least she knew those weren't real.

She knew the waking world was where he was, and what he'd done, what his actions were. She knew here that he was real.

Her days, otherwise, were spent between what-if scenarios and self-loathing. She was being stupid, mourning over him like this. They'd always been an on-again-off-again kind of couple. So what if maybe he didn't like it? Maybe he didn't like it this week. Or maybe he wouldn't like it ever again. OK. Big loss, right?

It sounded too phony to her.

What if she went after him? She'd seen what direction he'd gone. And he always seemed to travel to the same locations. She could go, now, while no one watched, and ride out to find him…

Then what?

She turned over, looking at her window. She could go after him, but he was as good as gone. He could disappear like no one she had ever known. He'd broken his promise.

She sat up, slowly. He'd broken his promise to her. Why should she keep her side? A slow, almost cruel smile crept up over her lips. Why should she bother to stay safe and cozy and protected? Why indeed?

She pushed her legs out from under the covers, and dressed. She felt dizzy, though whether from adrenaline by her crazy plan or simply because she was still sick, she couldn't be sure. But she dressed, pulling her hair into a tight ponytail, and sliding her gloves on.

Kitty and Kurt were outside her door, both surprised to see her. She threw a smile to the couple, and walked on, until she saw him.

"Professor." She said, he turned and smiled to her. Always so calm. Always.

"It's good to see you up, Rogue." She nodded.

"I'm goin'." He paused momentarily.

"I know." And he wheeled away. She nodded, adjusting her pack, murmuring a soft thank you, before turning heel and walking outside the door.

The ground was still damp from the rain. She hated it. Hated the slippery feeling of it beneath her boots, hated the way it made the air smells pure, the way it dripped off the tress. She wanted no reminders of that night.

She didn't feel at all guilty as she pulled out Logan's keys and sat on his bike. She didn't feel… anything. It was odd to be so numb, like somebody had put anesthetic on the hole she felt in her. She liked it, and she found that odder still. She revved the bike, letting it growl like a great beast beneath her. The rain began to fall again. Why was it always raining?

She growled softly, speeding away with her hair whipping behind her.

She rode on, into the night, stopping only to fill the tank, and off again. She didn't know where she was going, only that it was opposite the way she had seen him go, and that mattered. She couldn't think of that night, no, she wasn't allowed to even think of him. That would open the gap, and she couldn't afford to curl up while on the road. But never, never could she forget him. The sound of his voice would always go through her head. His eyes, his smile, would forever be burned into her skull. But she couldn't think of those things. They were like a story she wasn't allowed to read, but already had. She could know the facts, just not think.

She took a great gulp of air. Yes, she decided. That was how it must be.

It irked her, she came to realize, that the only reason she was doing any of this, this running, riding, playing charade, was to spite him. She wanted to be the incontrollable teenager; she wanted to be the intolerable old flame. She wanted to be a rebel.

She wanted to be a rogue.

She sped up, the rain long behind her now as she sped through the streets. People were but blurs on her sides, staring at the odd creature that seemed to have melded to metal, a willing sacrifice to the wind, so long as it took away her reason, her sanity, her everything.

So long as it took him away.

Days would pass in this fashion, stopping for gas, maybe to shove some edible food stuffs into her mouth to keep her alive, before sinking back into her throne of metal and leather. She looked a mess, wind-tossed and dirty, but as long as she didn't stop, she didn't much care. She stopped at a hotel about two weeks after she'd begun, sleeping the day through, showering, and changing clothes. She never let herself stop, because stopping meant her obsession would possess her again, would make her crumple like a butterfly with it's wings torn off, flittering in meek circles as it attempts to reach out, fly again, and finally dies.

But she was more than a butterfly, she reminded herself, but she too had lost her wings. For that matter, she mused, she wasn't sure she'd ever had wings to begin with.

She was up again, skipping out on the bill without a second thought, sliding into her seat again. She could lose herself to this, this endless cycle of sleep and wind, with the sound of the engine beneath her. But she knew it had to end, eventually.

But where?

March

April

May

June

July

The hottest time of the year. The sun beat overhead as she shut off the engine. She had no idea where she was, just some city somewhere. She hadn't paid attention to the sign. A hotel sat between a diner and a bookstore. The diner was slow, but comfortably busy. A waitress or two wandered about, offering refills of coffee.

She ordered a coffee, cream and sugar, a piece of pie. She put enough milk in it that the coffee was nearly white, and enough sugar to stun a horse. She gulped it down, devouring the pie as she watched the customers come and go.

"You lost, honey?" She looked up, fork caught between the pie and her mouth. The waitress was looking down at her, a woman on in her years, brown hair with streaks of gray. Mostly gray.

"Been lost since the day ah was born," she murmured and the waitress nodded like she understood.

"You look it. You slept lately?"

"Enough."

"You stayin' here tonight?"

"Thinkin' somethin' like it."

"Then watch your back, is all I'm sayin'. There's some mean folk around who don't like… your folk." Her eyes met with the woman's. The contacts she used were good, but her eyes weren't the hazel-gray they attempted. They were gold like a new ring.

"Our folk." She said softly, standing. "Thanks for the warnin', miss." The woman touched her chunk of white as she pulled on her gloves.

"Watch and blend."

The bell tinkled softly as she left the mutant woman, the woman who looked so natural it was out of place.

She did stay in the hotel that night, with the occasional roar of an engine, drunken laughter, girlish squeals, the occasional scream. She managed to sleep, despite her body's protests, despite wanting to go out and find out what had happened… only discovering the next morning what the entertainment had been.

The waitress had been discovered.

She wore her chunk boldly now, nearly flaunting it before these people, green eyes shouting her challenge.

She almost wanted them to do the same thing to her.

It struck her around then that she was being foolish, stupid to the point of suicidal. She needed this adrenaline, this brush with insanity, to know that she was still alive. It was almost sickening and delightful at the same time. She was well and truly possessed, obsessed with something, someone, intangible, and she was substituting it.

She felt immortal, invincible, free.

She walked around for days, nights, literally looking for trouble. It would take her eleven days to find it. Another drunken group, she mused. How predictable. She waited across the street, letting the light catch on her streak. Over they sauntered, and she ignored their suggestions, waiting and concentrating. It wasn't their words she wanted. What would this bring?

When the boldest of them reached out to touch her, she grabbed his wrist and twisted until she heard the unnatural pop-snap of bone breaking.

She lost herself to the rhythm of her fists and feet against flesh. Taking on three of them was easy when they were like this. Nothing like him.

They were nothing like him. And that's what she had wanted. She wanted to beat him this way.

She lost it, ripping off her gloves to touch bare skin, tearing the memories from their brains. Anger blazed, a hot and hungry beast, wanting to devour them whole just because they weren't him. And she let it. She absorbed their minds, leaving them crumpled and weeping, one even out cold because of her. Disgust rose inside her like bile, leaving a foul taste in her soul. She slid the gloves on again, leaving the miserable creatures behind. The sky was clear, glittering with undeserved stars. She wanted to be one of those stars, away from this, this sickness, this thing that was rising within her, that was beginning to become her. She didn't want to be this person, to live this life. She didn't want to. She wanted to blame him. She wanted it to be his fault. It should've been. He left.

Remy left.

Just thinking of his name was enough to tear the feeble defenses and slash her wound open again. She crumpled, arms tight around her own body as she gasped for air, shaking and filled with searing needles that plunged themselves into the hole.

No, she told herself. She wouldn't plunge into that abyss again, not to that place within her where all meant nothing. Not now, at least.

She ran through the newest batch of memories, finding what she hated, what she pitied, clinging to gruesome acts others had performed, and she finally managed to breathe again, growing strong until she stood, albeit shakily.

She retched in the alley, fumbling her way back to the hotel. She threw her things into her pack, tossing it over her shoulder. She shrugged into her leather.

Queen of Hearts, she mused. Queen of Hearts?

The Queen of Hearts sat on her throne, her creature of speed and that which is lost, and gave herself to the night.

She sat on the motorcycle, revved it, and left.


	3. Cards

At night, she dreamed.

Sometimes, the dreams made a vague, dream kind of sense. Being lost in an open sea, falling, lost in the woods… all the kind of dreams you understood. But the oddest were the most oft occurring. In those dreams, she was in a room. A dining room, she knew, that she'd never been to. There was a round table with a few chairs. Depending on who would accompany her was the scene outside the single window. He always had rain, like that day. The waitress had dusk. Cody had mid-afternoon.

For hours in her dreams, she would talk to the people. Sometimes, she just told them what she felt or what she'd done, like a therapy session. Sometimes, she'd talk about the person. Sometimes, she took out her frustration, her anger, her pain, on the illusionary figures.

Usually, she watched.

Yet, even though the dreams weren't scary or sad, she'd often find herself either screaming or sobbing when she awoke. One morning, after a particularly frustrating confession to him, she awoke, her throat feeling blocked and raw from holding back, her nose stuffy, and her eyes itching. Her pillow was damp and hot with tears and other such things, and she sniffled deeply, coughing as she rose and went to perform her daily ritual of cleaning and clearing away what clung to her from the night's dreams.

She loathed it.

She was sure, sooner or later, she'd stand up to discover her legs bent to the shape of the bike she spent so long upon, or that she'd try to get off to find that she couldn't. But it hadn't happened yet, so she continued for days on end on the purring seat.

August

September

October

She put the pack in her pocket, easily surpassing the store's meager security. Once outside, she flipped out the lighter, putting the cigarette to her lips. She blew out the smoke. She still coughed sometimes, and she had no idea why she even wanted to smoke. But he'd done it, and as it became harder to recall smaller details, she clung to what she could. Couldn't think it, couldn't forget it.

She didn't know where she was headed, besides south somewhere. But she pulled into the hotel parking lot, slipping back into her room. She needed to change. She could blend, true, but someone was bound to find her. She touched where her streak should've been. She'd dyed it, like the waitress had suggested months ago. Her entire hair was redder than it should've been, redder than her natural, but maybe that was better.

She sat by the window, looking out at it as she pulled off her gloves, flexing her hands. Someday, she wouldn't need gloves. Someday, she wouldn't need to dye her hair. Someday, she wouldn't need him.

She lay down on the floor, watching the sky change slowly to shades of gold and red, slipping into inky purples and blues as the stars came out again.

She didn't sleep that night, letting the air wash over her and soothe the sting she felt. One leg out, then the second, closing the window almost all the way behind her, and then she was off, back into the city. What was it like here when the sun wasn't around to keep the night things at bay?

A dance club held a line what would like a snake around and about, but it moves along quickly. A bookstore sat like an empty shell with a FOR RENT sign posted over it's windows. Houses shone with patters in lights, glowing formations that told a new story for each home. Here, a father tucked his daughter into bed, turning out the light so the nightlight glowed like a captured firefly. There, a teenager washed dishes from the family meal, grumbling darkly. Across the street, a baby wailed and it's mother came to check it.

She swiped at her eyes. Foolish. Tears at a time like this.

She nearly passed by the lamp post, but paused instead. Among the tatters that stuck to it, one fluttered, reasonably new and loud. A carnival soon.

She lit a fresh cigarette. She could stay for that.

The grounds were alight as dusk crept up, offering the possibility of an enjoyable evening. The air smelled of corndogs and candy, children squealing in delight, couples smiling. Color was everywhere. In the cheap prizes the victors clung to, in the bright cloths, the lights… and above it all, the hazy chatter and music.

She stumbled along it all, winner her own batch of prizes, keeping only a few. A plushie kitten, a deck of cards, a necklace of braided string, such things. The day bled into night and the crowds only thickened. She stumbled out into the air, smiling. No accidents tonight, even in the crowds. True, she was dressed to prevent, but something always seemed to go awry.

Now she wandered along the edge of the crowds, peeking to find the things she had not done yet. Fortune teller…

She paused. Most of them were fake but she knew… had know, rather, enough people capable that she had curiousity enough to pay the three bucks to try.

She had the typical reader look to her, all beads and dark tangles and mysterious eyes.

"Sit, child." Sneaking suspcions were saying this was a fake. She put out a tarot deck. "Pick five cards dat Feel right." The word evee felt like it had a capital letter. However, Rogue did as she was told, picking her five and putting them into line. "De first cards is your past." Flip. The Page of Coins. "I assume de question was of love?" A faint nod. "You didn't know how t' handle de relationship, but you felt good about it nonedeless. However, it didn't work, and you were depressed. Next is why you're doing what you're doin' now." Flip. "De Lovers. You made a decision dat needed makin', and you feel alienated because of what happened. You became trapped at a dead end. You had t' make anodder choice, continue de road you was on, or change de course." She felt ill. "What you're doin' now. Knight of Cups. You want somethin' badly and fear dat you'll never get it. You hope. Movin' somewhere else will probably ease de tension. You will be unhappy for de moment. Now who it involves…"

"Ya don't have to…"

"King of Wands. Someone ambitious, direct, daring, impulsive, but sometimes self-centered, hot-tempered, and impatient. You'll want t' make contact wit' dem, but problems will make you shut down. Let go and you might be surprised. You'll be hurt because of lies or because you were played false. Last, your most likely outcome."

The hole was throbbing dully. She was pale, sweaty, and having problems breathing.

"Breathe, Rogue. Four of Coins. You will tink over de possibilites of a relationship. Obstacles, if both work for it, will be overcome. You won't unite wit someone because your heart belongs t' your King of Wands. You'll remain detached and guarded until you know for certain." A knowing smile. "You'll have t' take a chance, my dear. Make a gambit, of sorts." Rogue turned and ran from the tent, gasping for breath before she'd even risen. She fell away, grasping her sides as the hole pulsed and throbbed before her body slowly numbled. She had to get away from here, to anywhere else.

She walked back to her hotel and began to pack. Coincidence, irony, whatever… she no longer remember or cared about the woman's words.


	4. Run

Rogue managed the way back to the hotel, able to breathe comfortably, but with a fine sheen of sweat coating her like a second skin. She could feel the tenseness in her muscles, the barely notable tremors that played throughout. Ten months she'd managed. Ten months without a problem, and one stupid carnival amusement left her like this. She knew, despite everything else, that she would've left this place soon. She rarely spent over a month in any one place, and it had been nearly three. And looking back at it all, she wondered how this trip could've lasted so long. It simply did not take nearly a year to travel anywhere in the country, at least not on motorcycle. Worse yet, she realized with a start, she couldn't remember what she had done. Some towns or cities, like this one or the waitress', she could remember very well. But the rest were a blur. So, what had caused it? Trying to not think, not feel?

She shoved the last of her belongings into her bag, the little prizes she couldn't be rid of. With determined steps, her boots took her down the steps and out into the night. It felt so right, as it always did, with metal and leather beneath her, the handlebars cupped, gripped perfectly beneath her gloved fingers.

She took off without a single glance back.

South, as she had determined before. Whatever lay that way. Currently, true, she was headed in a more south-east direction from her current location, but that was where the roads led her.

She refused to think on what the gypsy woman had said, what the cards she had said, what the cards she had picked said, what the cards she had picked said, because thoughts like that only led to the hole, and she was none-too-fond of the hole. It was starting to fill, though. Slowly, perhaps, but she liked to imagine that it had fine threads over it, like spider silk, that let the wind through and blow away the bad thoughts and memories that went and got all tangled up in it. Thinking like that also explained her feelings about the motorcycle, made it more than just transportation, made it a significant part in the healing process. She liked thinking like that, even if it was just wistful wanting. She should be allowed that much, shouldn't she?

Deep in thought, she passed the hours, still riding as the sky turned gray with dawn. A sign was on the horizon, fast-approaching. By pink-gold light of dawn, she read the white-lettered sign that secured her belief in irony.

NEW ORLEANS in big white letters. She'd never meant to arrive here of all places. In her escape of him, she'd arrived here, in his heart. Her brain went blank. She should turn and leave, she told herself, even as she knew that she couldn't possibly leave so soon. Her words on the subject were few, selected for the simple fact that they summarized her exact feelings of the very moment.

"Oh fuck."

She rode slower now, taking in the sights. It somehow didn't surprise her that she ended up here. She certainly hadn't meant to, but why not? Now that it occurred to her, this might be perfect. If he was here, then there was no better revenge than living well, and she could leave guilt-free. If he wasn't here, then she could stay and learn. Maybe something in this place, in his place, would give her the answer to a question she hadn't asked yet.

She passed by a girl putting up flyers before pausing and looking back. She wanted company, she realized. She squinted to get a better look. She wanted a roommate, apparently. Rogue headed back, pulling up beside the young woman.

"How soon would ya like a roomie?"

"You applyin'?"

"Got someplace you can stay, rent free." The woman looked her over.

"Where you headin', girlie?"

The woman and her soon after ended up where she remembered.

-Ivy-covered walls. He turned and smiled that crooked smile, explaining to her that this was his lace, where he stayed nearly every time he was in New Orleans, and she could come here whenever she wanted to.-

She ignored the gentle ache in her chest as she found the extra key in her jacket pocket, marveling over the fact it had stayed put for so long.

The inside of the little shack could hardly be called decorated, unless one counted the thin veil of dust over everything, but it was comfortable enough for two people. The woman whistled low, suitably impressed.

"Not too shabby for free." She grinned. "Not been introduced yet. Name's Shade, but ah go by Aislin Shamira 'round here. You?" She stuck out a hand, gloved like Rogue's own.

She hesitated. "Rogue. Ah don't have any other name ah use…"

"Then make one up for from now on. Ya can't have such an obvious name, can ya?" She was too kind, and she decided. It was true. Rogue was obvious. But this was too…

"Marie. Marie Lebeau. Nice t' meet ya." And they shook hands.


	5. Ace

Remy Lebeau stretched his arms high as he paused, the institute on the not-so-distant horizon. It wasn't that he missed the place, per se, but it was one of his main haunts, and he held a certain fondness for it. It'd been damn near a year since he'd been here. The very thought of it put one person to the front of his mind, but surely that femme's viper temper would have cooled by now, no? Then again, she was undeniably stubborn…

He sighed, running his fingers through his tousled locks.

-C'mon, mon ami.- He told himself, revving and rolling forward. –time t' face yo' problems.-

He wasn't sure exactly what he had expected (maybe his femme storming out for another bout?) and he had learned to expect nothing because that would then be the least likely thing to happen, but as he stepped off his own bike, the first thing he noticed was that Wolverine's was missing, and he knew that was equivalent to him missing a limb. His comrades also gave him guarded looks. Well, more guarded than usual. He only knew one person to ask. But when he knocked on her door, there was no answer. Peeking in, there was nothing left of her.

He turned when he heard light footsteps. Kitty Pryde looked upon him oddly.

"Rogue's gone, if you, like, looking for her." Little warning bells went off in his head. Wolvy's bike gone, cold looks, nothing left…

"How long?"

"She left the day after you did."

"Mon dieu…" He turned heel. Where had she gone? His cell phone buzzed in his pocket.

"Hey Remy. Yo' sister's in town."

"Mon ami, y' know I don't have a sister."

"Well, there's a femme goin' 'roudn here callin' herself Lebeau."

"Y' got a first name t' go wit' dat?"

"Yeah." He heard typing. "Marie, 'parently."

Marie Lebeau?

"Mon dieu." There seemed to be a lot of that going on. "Mon ami, I need y' t' keep track of her. I'm on my way."

Author's note: Hey everyone, thanks for reading so far. I know my last few installments have been on the short side, but some longer chapters are coming up, so be patient please. Blessed Be.


	6. Start

Rogue groaned gently, rolling away from the finger that was poking her demandingly. She finally looked up from beneath a tangle of hair to the cheerful face of Shade.

"What?"

"Wakey wakey, Roguey dearest! Tis morn at last!" She grinned and Rogue groaned again.

"Sugah, it's nine am. We got in at three."

"So?"

"Some people, like mahself, require more sleep than that."

"Your problem, not mine. Up and at 'em!" Shade dragged Rogue from the bedsheets.

"How come ya're so cheerful, huh? Ya were as late as ah was…"

"Because I'm used to it. I thought you would be too, but I was mistaken." Rogue was pulled into the bathroom, clothes tugged off, and pushed into a cold shower, which certainly woke her up.

Within four days, this had become their style. They had become nearly inseperable, considering; Rogue needed her because she wasn't ready to handle big crowds alone, and Shade needed her because she wasn't ready to handle being alone at all. One required the other, and that worked out well.

After changing the water to hot first and then emerging from her morning bathing ritual, she slipped into t-shirt and jeans, walking out into the "living room", discovering someone she didn't know sitting with Shade.

He was tall, dark-haired, hard to tell in the light exactly what color, and dark-eyed. Muscular, and so far as she could tell, tall, though he was sitting down. He looked up.

"Dis her?" Rogue bristled slightly at the tone, and Shade put a hand out to her, signaling for her to be at ease.

"Rogue, this is one of my closest and most talented friends, Cerberus. Cerberus, this would be Rogue. I called you about her." Rogue blinked.

"What did ya need t' call anyone for? Ah thought we weren't…"

"Rogue, chill. He'll keep us under the radar. If you're going to be wandering around, you need an alias too. He can provide it, isn't that right, Cerb?" He pulled a card out of his pocket. Rogue's picture sat beside the name LEBEAU, MARIE R. She eased slightly, plucking it from his fingers.

"Sorry." She murmured, inspecting it. Looked real enough to her. He just nodded.

"Cerberus and his lady, Ro, took me in when I was younger. Taught me most everything I know. We can trust them. You can trust them." Rogue breathed in deeply and relaxed. Shade didn't trust easy. If these were people she truly trusted, then maybe…

"I t'ought dat Remy didn't have any relatives. Now I t'ink I get it." Rogue blinked, looking at him.

"You know… Remy…?"

"We've bumped into eachother one or twice, mon ami." She nodded again. "When I heard dat Marie Lebeau was in town, I t'ought I should take a look. Didn't think our lil Shade would be involved." Shade grinned sheepishly.

"Eh, you know me. I attract trouble."

"Just wait 'til Ro hears about dis." Shade chuckled, standing with him and they hugged briefly. Rogue felt almost like an intruder on the moment, unsure.

"Tell Ro to give me a call or something, k? I got some things to talk to her about anyway." He nodded, bowing softly and turning, leaving. Rogue felt more relaxed the moment he was gone, but for no reason she could figure. Shade grinned at her.

"Didn't think he would come by so early, or I would've told you." Rogue waved it off, running her fingers through her damp hair.

"Didn't think ya had connections like this." She held up the card and Shade laughed.

"There is much you do not know about me, Rogue. This is just the beginning."

They remained in the house for a few days, relaxing and discussing plans. It was about a week later that Shade rolled over on the bed, watching Rogue.

"Anyone ever told you you're antisocial?"

"It's been mentioned once or twice. Why ya ask?"

"Because you're basically a hermit." A grin. "Alright, nearly. You have me. But you don't do anything. You're in the Big friggin Easy, for pete's sake! Relax, my friend!" Rogue sighed, rolling her eyes.

"And how do ya suggest that?" She grinned.

"Ah got just the thing, Roguey."

So they went out, for only the second time since Rogue had arrived. It was easy to fall into the routine. They went to a jazz club for dinner, and then straight into a club. Strobe lights blinked, the crowd as colorful as the surroundings. Shade had more acquaintances, apparently. She got to dancing with a guy, Alex, and hit it off easily. He was attractive, with light brownish hair and grayish eyes, a contagious, cute smile. Rogue never thought she'd like a guy like that, but just knowing a guy found her attractive enough to turn down other dances and focus on her… if nothing else, it was nice. Temporarily, perhaps, but she felt… normal.

The three left near two in the morning, laughing and joking with each other. Shade grinned, excusing herself and told Rogue she'd meet her back home, leaving Alex and Marie together.

"So, what're you in New Orleans for?" Rogue looked slightly away, fumbling for an excuse.

"Just needed to get away from it all, y'know? Mah… family… they expect a lot." He nodded.

"Yeah, I can understand that. I'm just visiting too. You and Aislin friends for a while?"

The conversation continued on from there, remaining to simple subjects. She enjoyed it thought, as she so far had the rest of the night, now morning. Maybe it was him. Maybe it was because he wasn't Remy. Whatever it was, she felt at ease.

Shade sat on the porch, waiting. Ro had called her. He was here, somewhere, and she had a suspicion that he would arrive here not long from now. Sure enough, she could hear a motorcycle, and she waited. It might not be him… but as it pulled nearer, she knew it was.


	7. Arrive

He hadn't expected anyone there.

The first thing Remy noticed was Wolverine's bike.

"Oh, chere', you didn't…" When he pulled in, it was. "Chere'… mon dieu…" He shut off the bike, climbing off, before looking at the woman on the doorstep.

"Ya Remy Lebeau?" She asked, without introduction. He smirked.

"Maybe, maybe not. It depends on who's askin'."

"Ah've got a message for Remy Lebeau. If ya ain't Remy, then ya better just leave." He looked her over.

"I know him. Why don't you just give me de message?"

"Because the words ah got t' say ain't exactly pretty, and ah wanna see his reaction when ah do it." She stood up. She was looking at his eyes.

"Den let's hear it."

"What the hell did ya think ya were doin', leavin' Rogue like that, huh?" He blinked at the sudden onslaught. "Did ya think ya were bein' noble, good, or somethin'? Ah got news for ya; ya did the stupidest thing ah think ah've ever seen!"

"There are reasons you don't know about dat make t'ings complicated…"

"Complicated mah ass! Ya can take yar reasons and shove them up yar's! Do ya even care how bad ya hurt her?"

"I don't t'ink it's your place to really judge, chere'. You weren't dere."

"Ah don't need t' be there t' see the effects. At least ya can deal with it!" He smirked more.

"Really?"

"Fine; at least ya can appear to deal with it. That girl still crumples when she thinks of ya!"

"I was trying to protect her."

"Oh, right, by shatterin' her? Brilliant, Mr. Lebeau, just brilliant! Leave her a complete wreck t' protect her! It makes things so much simpler, now that ah know that. Ah've got a pretty stiff view of lovin', and ya're crossin' mah lines. Unless ya're ready t' tell that girl ya love her and be ready t' change Rogue into Anna Marie Lebeau, just go."

"If it weren't for some t'ings, chere', I would've already." She stopped, staring at him, trying to maintain her anger. She was deteremined, he'd give her that.

"Just go, Remy. Not because of what I've said. I think… I think she might happy for the first time again." He nodded.

"I'll be back."

"I hope so." And he was gone.


	8. Relax

Alex left her at the shack, with an easy promise to see eachother again soon, and Rogue came in on a serious-looking Shade. As soon as they saw one another, Shade's eyes changed, hiding, while her face broke into a grin.

"So, how'd it go?" She teased and Rogue laughed softly.

"As good as can be expected." The girls grinned at one another.

Shade watched her roommate fall into an easy sleep, herself reclined on the window seat. Had she done the right thing, pushing Mr. Lebeau away from Rogue? She had just wanted him to leave before Rogue returned. What if Alex had been with her? What if there'd been a conflict? That was the last thing either of them needed. But what if…? She loathed what-ifs. They made her feel guilty, whether she was or not.

She sighed, bathing quickly before curling into bed herself. Rogue stirred slightly as she got into bed.

"What's that smell?" She murmured, sleepy brows furrowed. Shade smiled, stroking her hair.

"Good or bad?"

"Good… familiar…"

"Jasmine. Most guys don't like it. Too sweet for them. That's how I know to be careful with a man. If he doesn't like jasmine, he's got bad taste." She grinned gently. "But if he does, maybe he's worth a shot."

"Silly…" Rogue murmured, burying her face back into her pillow. Shade chuckled, bringing the sheet around her. Yeah, it probably was silly. Maybe that's why she envied Rogue. Whether the situation was bad or not, at least someone loved her.

Both of them woke up late, and Rogue left nearly immediately after calling Alex and arranging to go out for lunch.

Whether he meant it or not, the only thing that Rogue could truly say bothered her about him was that when he left, he just… left. Like it was some sort of business meeting. He was wonderful otherwise, but just the goodbyes pained her. She hated the oddly formal cold.

She learned he was a mutant, but the subject changed before she found out exactly what. All he said was it had something to do with energy and force fields, and that he'd earned the name Glowstick. She had to laugh at that. He'd been dumped a while before coming to New Orleans, and that he'd been here for a while. He'd met Shade by accident, like she had, and that she'd helped him get his house, though he didn't know exactly how she arranged everything. Rogue had the feeling it was much like the way she'd gotten her current I.D.

Beyond that, she knew little about him, and he about her. They simply enjoyed the company of the other, relaxed and at ease without having to worry about expectations. They expected nothing, and therefore were not disappointed. He seemed to enjoy the freedom. Rogue felt a little lost without the general boundaries.

She was back at dusk, and he left without a real goodbye. She entered the shack to find a note from Shade, informing her she'd be back before midnight. It was only about six-thirty now. She didn't want to be alone right now.

There was a knock at the door and she blinked, opening it. A woman stood there, and she could've been Shade's sister. She also carried a bag, bulging with stuff.

"Marie, right?" She nodded numbly. "Shade didn't tell you I was coming over, hm?" She shook her head. "Well, I'd shake your hand, but they're full. I'm Ro." It connected.

"Oh!" She took some of the stuff, mostly packages in foil. "Ya're Shade's friend."

"Yeah. She's not real good at telling about visitors." She laughed. "I thought you might be a little lonely, so I brought some food and such over to make you comfortable."

"No offense, but… ah didn't think ah'd see you at all. Shade made it sound like you and… Cerberus were attached at the hip." Ro sighed.

"We're on-again-off-again. When we're on, I generally am." She smiled, almost bitter. "When we're not, I take the position of a lady. Polite, the peacemaker, peacekeeper… I distance myself a bit. Helps keep the hurt out." Rogue looked away, unwrapping a package. Lasagna. "It's not just information." She felt her hand on her shoulder. "It's advice too. I've heard about what happened. I've… seen Remy around before. Knew him for a little while."

"Yeah. Me too." They both shared a smile, two women who knew the hurt of love, who knew the price of sharing their heart. Love was a worth-while prize, but sometimes it was hard to remember when the price ached so badly.

"You and I… we could write a book about it. Been down the same roads." Rogue nodded softly. "Enough of that for now, though. If we're going to be depressed, we should do it with warm food so we don't get completely angsty." She plucked the lasagna from Rogue's fingers, unwrapping it swiftly, followed by garlic rolls. For dessert, cupcakes, still holding the barest touch of heat from the oven with which they were baked. Rogue sat back, somewhat startled. Her first experiences in New Orleans had always been with Remy, but she'd never felt this… welcomed. People she hardly knew shared her room with her, brought her a new life, and then brought her fresh dinner. Ro misunderstood part of her confusion, but not all of it.

"When I get sad, I tend to make food. I won't always eat it, but cooking… it's like a balm. I suppose everyone has something. Mine's just generally edible, and with all the lords and ladies to feed… well, someone ought to, hm?" She smiled kindly, beckoning her new friend to the table to share.

The women then shared stories across the table, of times happy and sad. The first time Rogue met Gambit, and Ro compared her and Cerberus. There were undeniable similarities in the two men, and they laughed over pretending reactions of them to various events. It was oddly comfortable to talk to Ro; she had a motherly nature, truly motherly, not like Mystique or anyone else had ever been to her. She had shared love, been in love, which Shade never had. She could talk about Remy and it didn't even hurt.

It was nearly eleven when Ro finally admitted she ought to go soon. She'd been there longer than she had anticipated, but assured the older woman (for it turned out she was, for Rogue was nearly two years older than she) that she'd had no pressing issues elsewhere, and has definitely thought the time well-spent.

"If you need anything, Rogue, give me a call, ok?" She handed her a piece of paper with her phone number. "If someone else answers, just tell them it's Marie for Ro. I'll know, and I'll let everyone else know that if you call, I want to talk to you then, not later."

"It's not like ah'm all that important…"

"Nonsense. You're not only my adopted relative's friend but…" She smiled, giving her a brief hug. "You're part of my family now too. Don't forget that. If you need anything, call me, and I'll make it happen." Rogue smiled, feeling warm as she hugged the other girl back.

"Ah will, Ro. Thanks."

"Pass my regards to Shade, and Remy."

"Ah don't know if ah'll see him again."

"You will, Rogue." And she closed the door behind her.

Despite the cryptic message, Rogue remained smiling. Maybe it was the surety with which Ro had said the words, or maybe simply because it was so mysterious that it left the future open, but for some reason, she believed her. She believed she would see Remy again, and things would turn out for the best.

Rogue kept Ro's number nearby at all times.

Shade returned home a couple of hours later, later than she'd said but not by much, and Rogue gave Ro's hello to her. Shade grinned meekly, remembering she had forgotten to mention the visit, and they both laughed.

Slowly, she realized, she was healing.


	9. Remember

(author's note: Yes, this looks like a repost of the prologue. Read carefully! It's not quite the same, and you'll find out later why. All I can say for now is people sometimes block the thing that are painful to them…)

He'd said to meet him here, by the trees, at eleven. Though odd, she hadn't argued it, instead remaining faithfully at that spot for two hours now. One in the morning, and here she was, huddled down as the rain pattered down on the tree overhead, soaking through her jacket. She'd long since given up the idea of being dry. And all for this moment, the moment she'd waited all day for.

And she had no idea what it was.

Remy had left abruptly a few months ago, leaving no warning and saying no goodbye. Rogue had a breakthrough on her powers. She couldn't stop absorbing, but she could do it slower, take less. She flexed a gloved hand. It wasn't enough yet.

"Rogue." She'd heard his footsteps long before he spoke, turning her gaze up to his. Gray-green clashed with black and crimson.

"What took ya so long, sugah?" She teased softly, sniffling. Rain drops got up her nose as she stood. "Ya're usually early. Ah'm surprised." He raked a hand through his wet hair.

"Business, chere', always business."

"So ah gathered." She said softly. He was here. Her heart sped. Her breathing got shallow. And she was soaked through and cold. But he was here, and that's what really mattered, right? "So what's with the secret meetin'? Ya didn't even drop by when ya got back."

"I wanted t' make dis easy." He replied, and she scanned his face. "A clean break." He was smirking, like always, his eyes humorous, his body at ease, but there was something terribly wrong with it. His smile didn't meet his eyes, and he was tense, as if ready to spring, even as he attempted to be casual.

"What's wrong?" She asked, her heart quicker now, but not from excitement.

He sighed. "Dis ain't workin', chere'. We ain't workin'."

She felt the first signs of dread, colder than the rain.

"I t'ought we could get t'rough dis, but we ain't goin' nowhere. I t'ink it's time. I'm sorry."

"Ya ain't sorry, Remy." She said, her heart cold. She was numb. "Ya ain't never been sorry in yar life. You ain't startin' now." He looked at her, face serious now. Finally.

"Sometimes, I wonder, chere'."

"Don't leave me Remy…" She pleaded, her chest constricted. She couldn't breath. "Ah can't do it without ya."

"Don't say dat, Rogue. You'll be just fine."

"Ah don't want to do it without you." She wrapped her fingers into his coat. She didn't want to beg. She didn't want to lose her dignity in front of him. "Please don't leave…" He seemed to hesitate, she could swear he did, but he tugged her hands from his coat.

"Don't you understand, Rogue? I don't love you."

She thought she shattered. Never had it been said so bluntly.

"Ya bastard…" She whispered, trying to hold herself together. Her body shook. She wouldn't last much longer. "Ah s'pose this makes things easier for ya. Now ya can do whatever ya want." She mused, looking at the sky. Drops of water filled her eyes. Hard to tell whether she was crying or not now. For a moment, he put his arms around her waist, crushing her against him, his face buried in her hair.

As soon as it came, it was gone. Two hours in the rain just to say silent goodbye. He was gone before she laid down on the grass, rain pattering against her skin. She was there all night, clutching the ground like it was the only thing that kept her breathing in this world, as gentle lover's words ripped a hole in her chest and left her, lonely, bleeding, and broken.


	10. Glow

Throughout all, he watched.

Remy didn't want to know exactly what Rogue was involved in. He watched her as she slowly fell for that man. He hated him for it. But if he made Rogue happy… if she was ok, then maybe it was best he stayed away.

He watched the two new women, the Shade who'd cursed him and her friend. Rogue looked happier near them too.

Maybe he ought to stay away. He tried to get rid of these thoughts.

He watched her, with Alex's arm wrapped around her shoulders, watched her laugh and smile, look at him in a way that made the Cajun wonderl, and it was his own fault. Afterall, he'd been the one to leave, hadn't he? So he stoned himself against his doubts and watched. If he pulled anything, then he would interfere.

He watched as they ate dinner together at the same place Remy had taken her so long ago. Then they went dancing, watching Rogue move so fluid. He took the smallest amount of pleasure in knowing that she didn't move with as much confidence with the new guy as she did with him.

They left walking together near dusk, one of his arms wrapped around her shoulders, her head upon his. Remy felt a twisting in his gut.

If she was happy, he'd leave. He'd let her go.

He watched as Alex leaned in close.

"I think I love you, Marie." He murmured and she blushed gently. Remy felt his temper rise, but he held it down, smiling at a passing woman while his ear and his eyes remained on the conversation. Alex was leaning close, his lips nearly against her's.

He couldn't watch. He began to walk away. Afterall, it wasn't like she could touch him anyway.

"Wait," he heard her voice. Had he been seen? He looked. No, he hadn't. She had put a hand out against his chest, pushing him away. He looked wounded. "Ah can't do this, Alex." Of course. Her powers.

"Marie… I thought…"

"Ah love ya, Alex. Ah love ya as a near and dear friend. But ah'm not in love with ya."

"It's him, isn't it? He hurt you. How can you still love him, still trust him?"

"Ah don't know. But ah do. And it ain't fair to ya if ah accept anything more than ah have. Ya'll always be… second best."

Needless to say, this had certainly caught Remy's attention.

"Marie…"

"Ah love Remy, Alex! Remy Lebeau! Not ya!" All seemed to fall silent. Remy didn't know how to react.

Alex turned slowly, with a nod. "I know, Marie. Take care of yourself."

"Alex…" He paused. "Do me a favor? Find yaself a girl that can tell ya ya're the best. Never settle for second place." He smiled.

"Of course, Rogue." And he was gone.

She started to cry a little, something that made him feel like an intruder on a secret scene. So he did all he could do.

He left a softly glowing card on the table.


	11. Queen

Rogue allowed herself to cry for a little bit. She knew she had done the right thing with Alex. She wiped her eyes not long after, breathing deeply. She stood, walking. Something caught her eye, and she looked. Upon the bench was a softly glowing card.

The Ace of Hearts. She gasped softly.

"Remy…" She cradled the warm card against her breast and walked home.

When she got there, Shade was waiting, dressed for travel. Her bag was lacked and on her bike.

"Ya're leavin'?" Rogue asked.

"Yeah, you know me. I'm getting restless."

"Shade, will ya promise me somethin'?" She smiled.

"Yeah, Rogue?"

"Will ya try Xavier's institute? It really ain't that bad, and ah think it could help ya…"

"Say no more, Roguey dearest. I'm off an away to your precious professor." A dramatic bow and she settled of her own bike. "I'll want news on you, hear me?" She called, before revving and disappearing into the streets of New Orleans.

As soon she was out of sight, Shade pulled out her cell. Remy answered.

"Bonjour?"

"Go to her, Mr. Lebeau." And she hung up.

-Make her happy.-

Rogue sighed as the rain began. It always seemed that it rained when some sort of event was coming. She hoped Alex had been that big event, because she didn't think she could handle it if it weren't.

She didn't know what else to do. It was too late to beg Ro for company. Shade was gone. Alex had left. She was alone.

A strange coldness settled over her, tingling and prickling her skin, like when one feels as though they are being watched, even if they are not.

She walked into the bathroom, stripping off her clothes and turning the shower to hot. She smiled. Shade had left her jasmine soap. She chuckled, remember their conversations on love. She used it, the steam rising in great billowing clouds.

Unknown to her, Remy pulled up in front of the shack. Wolverine's bike was still there. The other girl's was not. He smirked a little. Of course it wasn't.

He'd seen Rogue pick up his card. Did she know he was coming? Well, that was why she was here, wasn't it? To wait for him. He pulled himself from the seat, and found the front door unlocked.

The whole room smelled like fresh incense, not an unpleasant smell to be sure, and jasmine, with a hint of cigarette smoke. It was oddly Rogue to his senses. It made him sure that she was here, if it weren't for the fact that he knew already. He could hear the shower running, and he sat down at a chair, looking around.

The bed hadn't been made, recently anyway. On one of the bedside tables was a deck of cards, poker chips, a glittering mask, dried flower blossoms. Around the room, he could see various trinkets she had apparently collected during her stay. He smiled a little. What an odd woman she was at times.

He heard the shower go off, the curtain open. He knew the moment was coming.

She opened the door, her eyes flickering up to him. The power went out, leaving them in near darkness. Pale light came from flashes of lightning, lighting her way enough He lit a candle. She walked to the window seat.

The year apart had been far kinder to her than he. He bore new scars. He hadn't shaved in a couple days, leaving his chin rough with stubble. He'd tanned. His hair was a mess. His hands were rough, his clothes dirtier than he would've liked.

She'd gained a little weight, but it looked well on her, made her look more beautiful if anything. Her hair had grown out. Now she'd parted it differently, leaving her white all to the left side, her hair mid-back. It was still dripping with water, leaving it with a pale sheen, the white looking shockingly silver in the light. Her eyes were darker than they had been, less trusting with him. She currently wore nothing but a towel, which was distracting enough. She was distracting enough, without seeing glimpses of creamy thigh, her shoulders, her legs bare to him. She sat on the window seat, lighting a cigarette. She was attempting confidence, succeeding for the most part. But he could see the way her fingers trembled. She finally took a drag.

She was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen. She was being confident, strong, unwilling to bend to his will, which was alluring. At the same time, she was innocent, fragile, and only was this way for him, which was equally attractive. Both at once, in this woman… But he could only react in one way.

"When did you start smoking, chere'?" He looked right at her face. For a moment, she looked almost wounded. It obviously was not the words she had been expecting.

They veiled suddenly, she forcing herself to hide all emotion.

"What ah started forgettin'." She replied, looking away. With each sentence, he could nearly feel her flinch. He was hurting her all over again. He knew it.

And so did she. In months, she hadn't felt the whole as obviously as she felt it now. It'd been so delicate with it's spider-thread barrier for so long, and slowly it had stabilized into something stronger, so she'd nearly forgotten the hurt.

But after the other night, waking up in cold sweat, she'd realized her worst fear; she had forgotten. Her memories of that night had been rearranged to her, so it wouldn't be so bad. As Ro had said, she'd suppressed memories to survive.

She looked out the window.

"If ya're just here to break me, Remy, ya're done. Just go." He smirked.

"Who said I was here t' do dat, chere'?"

"If not for that, then why are you here?" He shrugged, toying with one of his cards. She stood up, sliding one over to him. He turned it over. Queen of Hearts. "Take it and go, Remy. Ah don't want ya around me anymore. Ah don't wanna be hurt again." He stood, sliding it back.

"Keep it, chere'." He stood, ready to leave.

"Remy." She winced, waiting for some harsh reaction, which never came. He just looked back at her. "Will ya do me one favor?" He ran a hand through his hair.

"Anyt'ing Rogue." She put out one hand, completely bare.

"Take mah hand." He raised an eyebrow. "Ya'll understand. Just please… take it." He hesitated still and she put it out farther.

"What're you playing at, Rogue?"

"Ya said anythin', Remy! Things have… changed since you were gone. Please. Just for one moment…" He reached out, his rough hand taking it gently.

Nothing happened. He looked up at her. She was smiling, but it was painful. Broken, tear-filled. Afterall, she could touch, but what was the point now.

She started to pull away. His grip tightened, and she dared to look at him. He pulled her close, tilted her chin up.

"I don't say dis often, chere', but I love you." His lips brushed her's gently, once, twice, the third time remaining.


	12. His

Rogue peered at the sleeping figure of Remy beside her, her fingers slowly stroking his hair as he snored softly. She couldn't help but smile, if just a little. He was so peaceful when he slept. If only he were like that more often.

She shook of the thoughts with a grimace. Couldn't last, could it? Of course not; she was The Rogue. It was her duty to make it not last. He was The Gambit; the chance, the gamble, the luck. Sometimes, it ran out, right?

She just made sure she chose it.

That's how she'd been explaining it for hours now, after pretending sleep and letting him ease into his own after a few... interesting hours of them together. He'd been a gentle lover, careful to not hurt her more than she wanted, and he'd been gentler still when the lovemaking was done, caressing her and whispering sweet nothings into her ear. But she'd never heard the one thing she craved.

He never said "I love you".

So how could she possible stay? She couldn't, was the answer, and she'd spent the next several hours convincing herself of exactly that. In the dawn, he would leave her anyway, without so much as a goodbye. Well, if she was going to be hurt, she was going to pick her own poison. So she'd just leave first so maybe he would hurt a little too!

She started to get up, and heard him groan softly in slumber, and reach out, missing her warmth. He was starting to wake; she panicked. He could not, repeat, could NOT wake up! That would ruin everything! He'd tell her not to go, convince her that she could stay, and then leave while she was asleep! That was how Remy worked! That was how Remy killed her every time!

With anger flooding her vision, adrenaline flooding her veins, she tore down the defenses that kept her power back, and put her bare hand on his face, letting just enough of himself flow into her that he wouldn't wake for a while yet. When she'd taken enough, she pulled away, feeling her fingertips tingle with his power. She roughly pulled her gloves back on, erecting the barriers once more. It was surprisingly easy, once she'd got the hang of it. That had been a few weeks ago.

She cleaned herself up, unsurprised to see his eyes looking back at her when she looked in the mirror. She slipped on sunglasses to cover the orbs.

When all that was done, and she was clean and dressed, she stood at the foot of the bed and looked at him. She wanted to be angry, to be hateful; she wanted to practically kill him, drain him to the bone, but she'd already gone past the point of no return; they'd shared a bed, shared passion, shared love, even if the words had not been. And because she loved him, she couldn't quite hate him. She forgave him.

She hated herself more than anything.

She'd never tried, purposefully, to absorb him; it'd been one of those "You will not cross this" self-imposed lines. But she'd crossed her own line just because she was angry. She was ashamed, now, which was a much worse feeling.

She needed to know she wasn't his extra gal. Not just a surface lover.

She picked up his coat, pulling out his wallet and looking through it. Various cards sat inside, various feminine hands had scrawled phone numbers on those cards. She threw the wallet across the room, picking up the deck of cards next. She gripped them, tight, acutely aware of the Queen of Hearts card nestled by her breast. She found the Ace of Spades, placing it face up on the table, then threw the cards, scattering them across the floor, across the bed. She threw a silent tantrum, throwing his stuff around, knowing he wouldn't wake because of what she'd done, which made her all the angrier. Let him see her pain! Let him see her rage! Her hate!

Her love...!

She gripped the edge of the table, on her knees, one hand covering her face as she sobbed, heart breaking all over again.

She never should have let him back in her life.

She stayed that way a long while, before finally getting up, pulling his coat around her shoulders. If she was going to leave, she'd take a part of him with her. His coat around her shoulders, his bike beneath her as she rode away, his thoughts buzzing around her head as she sealed them away, waiting for them to fade.

He could follow, if he wanted; that's what the card on the table meant. But it was a promise of her eternal hope, a reminder of her current state... anything he wanted to see there, he perhaps could.

She just knew she had to go. Was it his mind or her's that told her to take his things? She didn't know, she didn't care. She was already gone.

((Author's Note: Sorry it took so long for such a short chapter. I'm finally getting a life again, and it's taking up most of my time. But I'm working on this, and there are some new ideas coming through. Maybe even a few stories to accompany this one! So please, be patient, I promise I'm working, and thanks for reading/reviewing! Blessed Be.))


	13. Spades

He could feel the dawn approaching, and a part of him cursed its arrival. He'd have to unwind his cocoon and get up, after the deepest sleep he'd had in years, and leave, because he had to.

He'd hated leaving her the first time, but the Thieve's Guild had called, and he couldn't ignore it. They still needed him, that's why he was here again. Her eventual and coincidental arrival here had been just that; a coincidence, both painful and wonderful.

The problem was, as long as the guilds fought, she was a liability to him, and he was most definitely a hazard to her health.

Hurt her to protect her? He'd had no other choice. But he'd assumed she'd hold up, repair herself, just as she always had. Why had she been clingy this time? Why hadn't she healed right? All he'd said was... I don't love you...

Oh. Maybe that.

Remy had had a lot of time to beat himself up, but he hadn't, really, until last night. And he had to do it all over again.

He rolled over to think his goodbyes. The bed was empty.

He looked at the wreck of his things. No. She couldn't possibly...?

A woman had left Remy Lebeau?

A part of him was enraged. No one left Remy Lebeau! No one threw him or his stuff around! But as he picked up his belongings, saw how each woman's phone card had been ripped apart or crumpled beyond recognition, saw the single playing card left on the table... this wasn't spite, that wasn't why she'd done it.

He cursed loud and long, throwing on his clothes. His jacket was gone. He picked up her keys and paused. Not his...

...Yes, his bike too.

He had to admit... Hell hath no fury like a femme scorned...


	14. Bourbon

She could still vaguely feel him in her head, but he was generally cooperative as she sealed him away in her mind. It was harder when his coat sent waves of his scent to tease her, harder when it was his motorcycle beneath her. It even felt different, a smooth sound, more like a purr in comparison to Logan's bike's growl.

She knew she was only a few hours ahead of him, so she pushed herself, not even stopping to sleep the first two days. She hoped he would rest and go slower than she, if he were to follow, and that this would put her ahead of him. She knew, this time, where it was she would end up; she just wanted the scenic route because he probably wouldn't figure it out, a mixed blessing itself.

It was getting late, her third day riding. She was tired, agitated, tense... maybe she should stop to sleep. Or at least to eat something other than the few snacks she had stashed in her bag. Or for human contact. Or something.

There was a bar in her view. That would do for now. She could get a drink and that would relax her, and then she could get a room and sleep it off. Nothing strong enough to give her a hang over or anything like that, no, just relax...

She opened the door and shuddered suddenly. The noise hadn't even budged upon her entrance, but the room felt tense. She imagined how she must look in his too long coat, shades tight over his -no, her- eyes, thick boots, white streak blazing in the front and center of her head... she cursed in that head, because this bar was suddenly labeled as a definite Bad Idea, and there were few things in her life that were Bad Ideas. Stealing his stuff was now a Bad Idea, going to that fortune teller was a Bad Idea... this entire trip, come to think of it, was one big Bad Idea. And now yet another Bad Idea.

But like all Bad Ideas, she would deal with it, however it came. She hoped.

She ordered a simple drink, coke and bourbon, and drank most of it down without a pause. She wanted to get it down and get out. But, as usual, fate had other ideas.

So instead of a nice, quiet, desperate drink, she was approached by a broad-shouldered oaf who was so drunk he swayed, and couldn't seem to concentrate on her.

"'Ey..." She said nothing, so he jabbed his finger into her arm. "I said 'ey."

"And ah ignored ya." She replied, sipping at the last of her drink. It wasn't the last, really, but it was probably the last she was going to get. Remy liked bourbon.

"Whaddaya think ya are, princess? Queen o' the fuckin' Nile?"

"If ah was, would ah be anywhere near the Mississippi?" He looked confused for a second. Talking back was a Bad Idea. But she liked it, suddenly. She remembered part of her reasoning for this trip; to spite the Cajun, to be in danger because he would want her to be safe. Well, talking back was not a good, safe idea. It was a Bad Idea. So it was good. She snorted a little at her logic, and Tall, Dark, and Stupid came to.

"'Ey, dont' try an' get smart with me, missy, cuz... cuz ya ain't smart!"

"Smarter than ya and at least twice as good lookin'." She stood up, and was quite a bit shorter than him, but she put everything into her facade. Remy would be impressed. And ticked. Two for one deal. "Honey, ya're dumber than a box of rocks, and that's an insult to the rocks. What happened, ya'r mama drop ya on your head when ya were a baby by accident," she smirked. "or maybe on purpose?" He clenched his fist, letting out a long string of curses as he pulled it back and swung. Unfortunately, he was very, very drunk, and the alcohol she had was not strong, nor had it hit her bloodstream yet. So he swung, and she dodged, and pushed. And then he fell.

Around then, his buddies decided that she was a troublesome little wench and it was time to deal with her.

So, while she dodged about, shoved, hit, threw, anything she could manage to not get hurt, she had a little time to think. It seemed than when she fought now, her mind just kind of... went blank. Empty white space, where she could think whatever she wanted, and she wasn't stopped by her conscience or anything. So when one pulled out a blade and lunged at her, she had plenty of time to think: Huh. Wonder what his blood looks like.

And as a curious little kitten, she twisted his wrist until he dropped the blade into her waiting hand, and she sliced his arm. He howled, running back as blood seeped through his fingertips. She tossed the blade from hand to hand, admiring the little switchblade. Weren't they illegal or some such? She looked up, looked at the original hoodlum, and wiped his companions blood on his shirt. She was bored now. She flipped the now-clean blade closed, into her pocket, and left while the other drunkards beat each other up while not realizing the original prize was gone.

When she got outside, she thought she would throw up. She had never done something like that, something just plain vicious. And it had felt good too. Usually, she would throw up, from guilt and the like, but she didn't even feel woozy. Maybe it was the adrenaline.

When she watched the sun rise, she knew she just wasn't going to. So she slept for a few hours, and then rode away.

>X 

Author's Note: Hey everyone. Well, since not everyone signs in when they review, I thought I'd start commenting here.

Reviews for chapter 13:

Aisyy: I liked the way the chapters were too, but these just seem to flow a little better. This is my first fanfic, so I'm getting a little used to it still.

Professor Horatio Hufnagel: May I first say that I love your name? grins Don't worry about the lame pun. I thought the same thing, so it was funny seeing someone else say the same.

ishandahalf: I agree. I spent so long trying to write the next chapter and I just kinda realized it was hard to do with the way the chapters were. I'm pretty pleased with the result thus far.

Tammy: Yes, actually Gambit did tell Rogue he loved her; I made a typo in the following chapter, which I will fix momentarily. It's not supposed to say that she left because he didn't say I love you, it's supposed to be she left because he didn't mean it when he said I love you. At least she doesn't think so. Thanks for pointing that out to me!


	15. Burn

There was no hesitancy as she sped down the roads, hair whipping behind her. She'd always loved her hair. It was her vanity, that one little thing, and mostly because... well, he liked it too.

She picked up some scissors from a local store, and went into the bathroom. No one was there to interrupt her. She paused, looking in the mirror. This was so cliche', honestly. And besides, she'd cut her hair before. But... she sighed, raising the scissors up, and heard the crisp, clean -snip-.

When she was done, it brushed around her ears, ragged about the edges, but her point was made. Long curling tendrils of it lay on the floor, and she gathered up what she could, wrapping it into a neat toilet paper package and tossing it in the trash. She felt weird, exposed, with her one little shock of white, but it also felt oddly good. She ran her fingers through it, and bit her lip. Now what? There wasn't much to do, come to think of it. She felt like she was in some movie; boy dumps girl, girl leaves, boy follows, nookie, girl leaves, girl gets pretty emotional weird, cuts hair, drinks, fights... this was some kind of movie, minus the acting, minus the cameras, minus the audience. It was just her and Remy. She almost wished she could just wake and find out that this wasn't how it was, this wasn't all real at all... he'd never left her... she'd never surrendered... she'd never run... but that wasn't how it was. This was real.

She sat on the bike seat a long time, lighting a cigarette and taking a single drag before exploring through her own head. The cigarette burned down, almost to her fingers, before she simply chucked it on the ground, extinguishing it's meager life with the toe of her boot. She felt stupid and selfish, besides ashamed and guilty. Nothing was going quite right...

She could feel his imprint fading in her head. Her eyes didn't match his anymore. She couldn't charge a damn thing. All she had left was his belongings.

She looked at his bike for a moment, then cursed loud, startling a few passersby. She'd left Logan's bike...

"Ya better follow, Cajun, or Wolvy's gonna have mah head..." She grumbled. Stupid stupid stupid... Alright, so no going home until he was already there, or she better have a damn good excuse.

She glared at the starign people, growling low. They suddenly had somewhere to be. Now.

This just wasn't fair, for god's sake. She didn't want to run again, but she knew she couldn't stay.

And why the hell was any of this coming to her head now anyway? Why was she wasting time, sitting outside a convenience store, pondering her existence? She had places to be, places to go, and sitting here feeling sorry for herself wasn't the way to go about this at all!

She threw her other leg over, revved, and sped away, startling them again. Damn right ya should be scared, she thought. Ah'm scary. So be scared!

Except she wasn't. Just pissed. Big difference.

As Rogue sped down various roads, pondering said existence, her Cajun was still back in New Orleans, pondering his own. He could follow her. He should stay. But what would he do?

So, after a few times around, he ended up back at the Shack, sitting on the porch, smoking a cigarette, chin on his fist, elbow on his knee, looking deep and ponderous. He glanced up as a woman, the other other woman, walked up, cocking her head to one side.

"She left, huh?"

"Yeah. And you are?"

"Ro." She sat down beside him, stretching out. "I figured she'd go."

"Yeah, and you know her so well."

"Maybe better than you think." He looked at her, sideways, and she looked back at him the same way. "You going after her?"

"Not yet."

"Any reason?"

"She needs time t' t'ink. I dunno what's goin' on in her head, but I can guess."

"And?"

"I screwed up."

"Yeah, you did." He growled, then chuckled, looking at her full-on now.

"So, besides tellin' me how bad a guy I am, what're you here for?"

"That's about it. And maybe to offer some advice."

"And dat would be?"

"That she's stronger than you think, but weaker than you expect. You saw how much she's changed. Not just because of you, but because of her own choices." He nodded after a pause.

"True enough."

"The point is, Mr. Lebeau, that if you want her to be as strong as you expect, she's gonna need someone to lean on, you know? Apparently, that's you, for one reason or another." He nodded again.

"You got your own boy, non?" Her turn to nod, albeit barely an inclincation of her head. "And what does he t'ink about all dis?"

"How should I know? He's not mine." She stood. "Never been mine. But you're her's," she looked at him, face stubborn, reminding him severely of her, the girl in his coat. "And she's your's, so don't lose that. It's not worth it to get this far and lose. And you are a gambler, aren't you?" He smirked, standing.

"Somet'in of de sort."

"Then gamble all you got, Cajun." She turned and left like she'd come, an odd blip in his and her life. Another odd blip, and probably not the last.

Alright, so he would follow her. But slowly. He'd do as he was good at; he'd watch and wait for it, whenever it was.


	16. Memorize

Another day passed. She hardly noticed. It certainly didn't feel like it, but the sun had risen, set, risen again. Unlike men, the sun didn't lie.

He had said he loved her. But she couldn't believe it, she just couldn't. He'd said he didn't last year. Had it taken him a year to figure out he was wrong? No, he'd probably played the same game with dozen of other women. He just wanted the sex. That was the reason that made sense, that was the reason that was logical, and she wished desperately she could believe otherwise. Anything that might give him some form of a heart, a soul. Not just... not just a game, like his precious cards.

How dare he. How dare he play her the fool, shatter her, then say those words for a good fuck! She closed her eyes, tears trying to force their way out. How dare he play her false...

_"King of Wands. Someone ambitious, direct, daring, impulsive, but sometimes self-centered, hot-tempered, and impatient. You'll want t' make contact wit' dem, but problems will make you shut down. Let go and you might be surprised. You'll be hurt because of lies or because you were played false..."_

She pulled over, putting her face in her arms. Damn her, damn that old hag at the carnvial! She couldn't be right, it wasn't fair! But everything else was right... Remy had lied afterall... but when?

_"You'll remain detached and guarded until you know for certain."_

A car pulled up behind her, a kind-faced man touching her shoulder hesitantly.

"You ok, honey?"

_"You want somethin' badly and fear dat you'll never get it."_

_"Marie. Marie Lebeau. Nice t' meet ya."_

_"When we're not, I take the position of a lady. Polite, the peacemaker, peacekeeper… I distance myself a bit. Helps keep the hurt out."_

_"You and I… we could write a book about it. Been down the same roads."_

_"It's him, isn't it? He hurt you. How can you still love him, still trust him?"_

_"Ah love Remy, Alex! Remy Lebeau! Not ya!"_

_"When did you start smoking, chere'?"_

_"Take it and go, Remy. Ah don't want ya around me anymore. Ah don't wanna be hurt again."_

_"I don't say dis often, chere', but I love you."_

_"Don't you understand, Rogue? I don't love you."_

She listened, silent as a year flashed before her. Then she looked up at the man and nodded.

"Yeah. Just headed home."


	17. Claws

It didn't matter that Remy had Logan's bike. It didn't matter that she had not spoken to any of them in over a year, or her reasons for leaving in the first place. None of that mattered anymore; Rogue wanted to go home.

So that's what she did.

It seemed to take a lot less time to get back than it had to go to. But it seemed faster when you had a destination.

To consider the entire trip was... well, frankly, it was odd. She could recall events, but not any single day. They just... blended.

She stopped in the first town she'd been to on this trip, the one where the waitress had been killed. She went to the same diner, and she saw the same faces, the faces of the diners that night, the faces of the drunkards she'd beaten after. But none of them saw her. They didn't recognize her, despite the fact that she had the white streak, the same southern twang, the same everything that she could think of, except maybe her coat and the length of her hair. But they barely noted her. She clenched her fist, sitting down at the same table, and ordering the same food. Pie, coffee with cream and sugar. A meek girl brought it to her. Seeing the fear, she felt rage boil through her. This girl who didn't even know her was frightened, but the people she'd beaten didn't even see her? Her hand gripped tight on the switchblade, some part of her screaming _Do it! Go to those assholes and show them that ya ain't afraid! Ya remember her! Ya remember everything! Kill them!_

She gripped tight and stabbed. The fork went through the slice of pie easily, and the hand brought it to her lips. She chewed, swallowed, drank, without tasting it. When she was done, she threw money down on the table, too much but it didn't matter. She passed them all by without stopping, despite the voice that was fading into the distance, still shrieking it's battle cry, demanding blood.

She'd been the heartbroken. She'd been the friend. She'd been Remy, for gods' sake. But now? Something inside her broke open, hatching like a bird from an egg. It whimpered it's message.

_Ah miss mah family. Ah miss the Institute. Ah wanna go home._

She sat on the bike a long time, balancing it, clenching and unclenching her fists. She didn't want to _go_ home; she wanted to _be _home. But she wasn't, so she needed to go. But she didn't feel much like leaving this place, where it was quiet and peaceful. She knew the reunion back home would be noisy, though noisy with what, she was unsure.

She kicked off, and was rode until she was weak with hunger and unfocused with lack of sleep. She collapsed in a hotel, woke up the next day, and rode until sunset, rode until she saw the Welcome to Bayville sign.

Another hour, and she was at the gate. They opened upon seeing her, letting her drive into the driveway. Logan waited there, arms folded.

"You took my bike." He growled, and she stood, meek. "And now you're back without it."

"Ah'm sorry, Logan..." She looked up, eyes full of tears. He sighed.

"You miss me, kid?"

"Not much." And she threw her arms around him.


	18. Wind

((Author's Note: sorry for the wait, m'dears! School stuff has started, and it took over a decent part of my life, along with some personal issues and such. But I promise, I've come back to play with Nightingale. But even so, I must bare the news: We are nearly at the end of this story! Yes, there are only 20 chapters in Nightingale, and here is chapter 18! It seems so recently that I started… but there's a surprise for you. I hope. So read and enjoy (and sorry it's short!))

Rogue looked up, using the heel of her hand to wipe at her tears, half-embarrassed to be caught crying in front of Logan. He half-smiled, putting his hands back in his jeans pocket, looking her over. She could imagine it; her, just as short but a little rounder than before, hair shorn short, wearing Remy's coat and driving Remy's motorcycle.

He just watched her, pulling into the driveway on his bike, his coat, the way he should be, the way he nearly did. He smirked, walking down the stairs, seeing her smiling at Logan as they walked in the door, seeing the shock, the guilt, on her face when she saw him leaning against the banister, just as he always was. She watched him, like a deer caught in the headlights, as he walked down, nodding at Logan and tossing him the keys to his proper bike, the one she'd left him with, before turning his curved lips to her eyes.

"Later, chere'." His hand slipped into the pocket, plucking his keys out without her notice, as he walked out the door, slid onto his bike (still warm from her…) and revved.

About this time, Rogue gasped, realization struck, and swiped the keys from Logan's hand, racing to the garage. He sighed, grumbling about the fact that his bike was getting used so much and he wasn't the one doing the using. She threw herself onto his bike, speeding out the doorway, seeing Remy pull out of the driveway. So long as he was within sight, she could follow. Where could he go from here?

She sped up, his scent on the wind, his coat flapping behind her. She'd lost him too many times already, she'd made herself lose him.

She had no idea why, but suddenly, she couldn't possibly lose him now. She wouldn't survive it. Which in itself sounded utterly ridiculous, because she knew damn well she could survive it. She was stronger than that. This whole thing has proved it!

The whole trip had proved that.

She'd known someone who died, had been possibly the last kind person to see her alive. She had made a friend of a stranger, had known people who tried to make the world better in what they could do. She had become family to someone she hardly knew, had faced the future in a deck of cards. She had finally done what no one dared to do in leaving the man no one could leave, in thieving from the thief. She took parts of himself and wrapped them around herself. She had loved, lost, known all and known nothing. And now she was suddenly concerned she might not survive.

"Remy!" She called out, feeling stronger in the passing wind. She would survive it, not because she wasn't going to let him leave, but because she was The Rogue. The Rogue would survive because she didn't know how to do anything else.

He turned and she turned soon after, over grass and gravel, feeling the bike slide a little bit as she adjusted to the change in terrain. Remy looked like he was having no trouble with it.

Because he wasn't. Somewhere, nestled in the back of his mind, he knew that Rogue was following him, but he didn't much care. She had taken his bike, and that was what had mattered. Now he had his bike back, so it didn't matter at all. She still had his coat, but there were other coats out there. If she wanted to talk well… he'd talk. If she didn't, he had his bike.

He pulled to a stop on the hill, his hill, his little lookout point. It looked out over Bayville, in it's meager glory, and he leaned his head back, working the kinks out of his spine. He could hear another bike following his path, and shook his head a little, muttering something along the lines of "Stubborn as always…" He smirked a little. She wanted to play a cat-and-mouse game, huh? He pulled himself off his bike, leaning against a tree, tugging his hat down a little to a mysterious-looking angle, and waited.


	19. Blood

She pulled up, skidding alittle against grass and gravel, propping the bike up as she looked at him. He wouldn't look back at her. She wanted him to. She felt like she was brimming over with something, though what it was, she didn't know. Maybe she was just tired. Tired...

"Remy." Her voice came out weaker than she wanted it to, but it was enough. She saw his head move ever-so-slightly in her direction, indicating at least his eyes were on her. What was she to say now? She didn't want an excuse. Besides, 'Yeah, ah got tired so ah left, found ya, fucked ya, left ya, and now ah've followed ya all over again.' seemed like a poor excuse. So she stood there. He finally turned around.

"Yes, chere'?" Chere'. He said chere'. That was... good, right?

"Ah don't wanna fight ya like this anymore, sugah"

"Who say we're fightin'?" She growled, taming her temper, though it lashed like a red-hot whip. He smirked. "I'm just here for my jacket now." She stopped, and slowly removed the coat.

"Ya want ya'r jacket, Remy? Take it." He reached out and she slammed her fist into his face. He reeled back, smirked, and spit out blood. She dropped his jacket. "Ah owed ya that for a long time, ya swamprat." She hissed. "Ya got what ya came for, Remy. Ya got the bike, the coat, and the parts of me ya wanted. What the fuck else do ya need?" He chuckled as she turned, sliding back onto the bike.

"And you got all you came for too, Rogue. Not bad." She looked back.

"Ah don't want ya'r respect, thief." She replied. She revved, turning back to the mansion and leaving him behind.

Logan was still in the garage when she pulled up.

"I didn't expect you back."

"At all or alone?"

"A bit of both." He admitted, lighting up a cigar. She passed his keys to him.


	20. Gumbo

She looked blearily at the kitchen clock. Two a.m. She took a jar of peanut butter from the pantry, digging out a spoon, and brought her knees up as she sat, eating the creamy, peanut-y goodness. Guilty pleasures were so much fun. Kitty would kill her for eating from the jar.

Somewhere, nearby, the door opened. She shook her head. Logan had gone out earlier. He'd be back.

She couldn't help it. She was listening. Were the footfalls heavier or lighter? She hated him, for everything he'd done, but she forgave him too, because... somehow, she just did.

It'd been four months since she'd last seen him. She easily imagined him walking away, with a sore jaw at least, and just doing... what he'd always done, whatever it was. Stealing things, gambling, sleeping with whatever woman passed his way... that's just what Remy Lebeau did. She sighed, licking the spoon softly. Yes, that was what he did. That's why she'd moved on. She'd always love him, but... that's not how things always worked out.

"You're up late." She didn't look up.

"Ya're up at all."

"Marie." She put the spoon down, the jar, standing slowly, and looking at him. Whenever she saw him again, he always looked so... haggard. "I've been t'inking, chere'." She let out a brief smile, subduing it after.

"That's a scary thought." He sighed softly.

"What am I supposed t' say, Marie?"

"Asking for advice? From lil ole me?"

"I'm serious."

"Ya're never serious, Remy. Ah learned that a long time ago." His arms twitched. She took his hand.

"What do I do, Marie?"

"Ya stop runnin', Remy. Ya stop bein' an asshole." He chuckled.

"I dunno if I can do dat."

"Try." He looked around, avoiding her eyes. She touched his cheek, leaned up, and kissed him.

Logan passed two people riding on a bike, one with a white streak flying, laughing as she clung to the driver. He rolled his eyes, grunted, and lit his cigar.


	21. Author's Finish

Well, everyone, thanks for reading _Nightingale_. My first fanfic finally finished! (lots of fs in that one.) I have definately considered doing at least one more story, more centered around Shade or Ro than Rogue, though, but of course Rogue and Remy would make a major appearance or two.

Thanks for reviewing me, for sticking through despite my laziness and short chapters, my not-always-good Remy or my angst-filled Rogue. You guys are the reason I write.

Blessed Be,

-Poptart Demon


	22. Author's Note: It's been years!

Author's Note: Not sure if anyone who might still be around will see the updated profile, BUT! I have returned! I'm not really sure why I left about four years ago, at the end of "Nightingale" and the start of "Bluer Sky." I know I had some life-changing events happen, and my computer got murdered, and we moved, but I know I disappeared all this time and just stumbled over my account. I DO intend to continue/complete "Bluer Sky," and work on some new things. Not sure if anyone who ever read my work is still about, but I felt that, if any of you are still around, I owed you a proper apology, and this seemed the best way to go about that.

Ever your's, and once more, with feeling!

- Poptart Demon


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